


It Was Inevitable

by gluedwithgold



Series: But They're Brothers! [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Ficlet, Hell, M/M, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6007471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam went through his own hell when Dean died.<br/>Post-Season 3, Episode 16 "No Rest for the Wicked"</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Music prompt by [Dancing_Adrift](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift)  
> "Inevitable" by Anberlin.  
> Text in italics is taken from the lyrics. 
> 
> Un-beta'd.

“Somebody help me! Sam! Saaaaam!!!”

He can hear his brother calling out for him, screaming his name from hell. Every time Sam closes his eyes it’s all he can hear. All he can see, his brother, his Dean, bloodied and broken, scared, desperate for Sam.

He wants nothing more than to go to him, join Dean in hell. He knows he’s done enough bad to earn the trip downstairs, and if he takes his own life, puts the gun to his mouth and pulls the trigger, well, then that’s just extra insurance that he’ll go the right direction. That he’ll be able to be with Dean again.

But he can’t do it. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Because Dean’s words echo in his head every time he tries, every time he tastes the sharp bite of cold steel in his mouth. Dean’s words, telling him what he’s supposed to do.

“Keep fighting. Take care of my wheels. Sam, remember what Dad taught you. And remember what I taught you.”

What Dean taught him. Sam remembers what Dean taught him. He taught him that family is everything. He taught him there is no greater bond than their brotherhood, than their love. Taught him those things with his protective arms, his caring hands when Sam was a kid. Taught him with firm embraces, soft lips and gentle touches when they were older. When they finally realized what they had, their bond, was more, more than family, brothers, blood, more than taboos. Dean taught him that soulmates exist, and that you do anything - anything - to be with your soulmate. Life isn’t worth living without Dean. But Dean...Dean said...

“Sammy, all I’m saying is you’re my weak spot. And I’m yours.”

Sam’s head spins every time he hears those words repeated in his mind. He’s weak, but Dean told him to be strong, to keep fighting. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ Sam repeats, whispered, over and over. His head spins - weak, strong, fight, give up - what is he supposed to do? He takes another drink. It’s all he can do. He can drink, and he can wish.

He wishes. Wishes, wishes, wishes he could go back, turn back time. He’d go back, back to a time without Hell and demons and blood. Back to the two of them, sitting on the hood of the Impala watching the stars, sharing a beer, sharing space, sharing bodies. Back to a time when the world stopped around them, narrowed down to just them, nothing else, the two of them, untouchable. _He’d wanna break every clock, so the hands of time could never move again. So they could stay in that moment for the rest of their lives._

He drinks. He drinks, drinks, drinks but it doesn’t ever stop, doesn’t dull the pain, doesn’t erase the images, the sound, the smell...his brother’s body ripped to shreds by unseen claws, blood streaming, so much blood...and his brother’s screams, his pain, his...resignation.

“No! Dammit! Just no.”

“I’m not gonna let you go to Hell, Dean!”

“Yes you are! Yes you are.”

Sam drinks to dull the screams, the begging, the rip of flesh. He hears it still, from his memory, seeping up from hell. Dean’s hell is reliving his death, over and over, tortured, desperate, alone. It’s Sam’s hell, too, so he drinks. But it never works. Never, never, never works. So he raises his gun, wraps his lips around the cold steel like he used to wrap them around his brother, but instead of love and wholeness, completion - now there’s only the back and forth, the constant back and forth of stay, go, strong, weak.

He remembers, too. Even when he drinks he remembers those times, him and Dean, bodies tangled, sweaty, quiet, together, alone. He remembers Dean whispering in his ear, words pushed out with a sigh while they touch and kiss and move as one.

_“I wanna be your last first kiss that you’ll ever have. I wanna be your last first love that you’ll ever have...till you’re lying here beside me with arms and eyes wide open. I wanna be your last first kiss for all time.”_

Months. It’s been months since Sam put his brother in the ground. Months of drinking, wishing, remembering. Months of hearing, head spinning, Dean screaming in Hell. A month ago it changed, though. The agony. The desperation. Something changed in Hell, Sam doesn’t know what but the blood stopped, the ripping of flesh. It’s not Dean’s anymore but Dean is still tortured, still aching for his brother, still half a soul stuck in Hell. And Sam is still stuck...here. He still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, but he knows what he can do. Focus on revenge is better than all the rest. All the pain and the spinning and the wishing and remembering. Dean told him to keep fighting, so he’s fighting. Planning, tracking, gearing up to kill.

There’s a knock on the door. Voices. It’s not the pizza. Sam steps out of the bathroom, hair still dripping wet. His head spins, but in the other direction. The right direction. Toward Dean. Dean is standing there, right in front of him. There, breathing, whole, alive. It’s real. Bobby says it’s real. “It’s really him, Sam.”

Arms around him, warm pulse of blood, breath of air against his ear. Dean. Right here, in his arms. Not in the ground, not in hell. Not screaming, not in agony, not desperate. Here, together, one, whole. Whole again. Soul, healed.  
  
_“Is it over now? Hey, is it over now?”_ Sam whispers in his brother’s ear, too quiet for anyone but him to hear, not for anyone else but Dean.

“Yeah, Sam. I’m here. It’s over now.”

  
No more spinning, no more hearing, wishing, remembering. No more screams, or blood, or ripping. All of it floats away, dissipates like smoke in the wind till there’s nothing left, nothing but them, together, arms wrapped around each other tight like it was always meant to be. Sam should have known. Should have known. Should have known it was inevitable.


End file.
